spn_springfling | Sings the Streets a Serenade by deirdre

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Title: Sings the Streets a Serenade
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R
Any warnings: none

The day the guy first appears, Jared’s in his usual rush.

It seems impossible to finish a shift at the coffee shop on time, meaning Jared sprints to campus to teach his EECS111 section most mornings. And since the new street musician pops up on a Monday, he’s just a blur in Jared’s peripheral vision: typical acoustic guitar, leather jacket, case open for tips.

Buskers around the city come and go. Interchangeable.

But as Jared speeds past, he catches a scrap of song, a voice honey-smooth, layered over jaunty strumming.

Slow down, you move too fast. You got to make the morning last.

Jared almost hears a smile behind it, some good-natured teasing. He’s tempted to turn around, check if the guy is looking at him, singing to him. Instead, he reins in his imagination, tucks his chin closer to his chest, and plows on toward the engineering quad.

~~~~~

The next morning Jared has no class until ten-thirty. He can take it easy, stroll. And if he slows as he approaches the spot where the guitarist was yesterday, well, that’s just because there’s a crowd partially blocking the sidewalk.

It’s the guy again. He’s playing a classical guitar piece, some intricate instrumental that has his fingers flying over the strings. Onlookers murmur and clap at different points, so Jared assumes it’s really good.

He’s thankful his height lets him get a good look over the audience. When he does, he sucks in a sharp breath, because the guy’s handsome, no, fucking gorgeous. Must be a model or an actor slumming between gigs. His features are Roman-coin perfect, his hair artfully mussed, and the hint of scruff on his jaw glints auburn in the sunlight. He’s got this lazy grin that seems to radiate I don't care about the money, I just want to hang out, you and me.

Jared feels like the cartoon Coyote. One minute he was standing on solid ground, the next his stomach has dropped out and he’s falling through thin air.

Just then, the guitarist looks around, crosses glances with him. His eyes light up, smiling, and he nods briefly. Jared turns to see if there’s someone behind him.

There’s not. He’s actually nodding to Jared.

He freaks, ducks behind a lady next to him—no mean feat for a six-foot-five scarecrow—until he thinks the guy’s attention has moved on, then scampers away down the sidewalk. Jared doesn’t need a mathematical proof to know the guy’s too beautiful, too talented, too cool for an awkward nerd like him. He’d be a masochist to give in to this crush.

Behind him, the flurry of Spanish-sounding notes halts. Then four strong chords, repeated. The guy starts in with lyrics, enough sex in his voice to make Jim Morrison blush.

Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name.

That night, Jared dreams of music. Of nimble hands and green eyes.

~~~~~

After work the next morning, he considers taking a different route, but there’s no time. Coffee in hand, he strides down the street, determined to ignore any musicians he might encounter.

But it’s like the guy was waiting for him. The minute Jared rounds the corner, he starts playing.

Who are you? Who, who, who, who? I woke up in a Soho doorway…

Jared’s lips twitch. It’s clever, okay? He’s got nothing to toss into the guitar case, his wallet emptied to Chad’s wheedling for a loan at the shop. On impulse, Jared stoops, setting his steaming, near-full coffee down on the sidewalk without breaking stride.

There’s quiet and then, “Hazelnut!” the guy calls. “My favorite!”

The thought of those lips sipping from the same spot Jared’s had sends a shiver down his spine.

A few lyrics catch him as he’s walking away.

If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you…

Later, he googles them to discover they’re from Led Zeppelin’s Thank You.

~~~~~

It becomes a daily thing. Jared always brings an extra coffee, casually places each cup next to the case as he goes by. He doesn’t look back, just waits for the guy to break off whatever he’s playing and start something new. Something just for him.

I ain't complainin' but I'd sure like to find me a true, fine love.

And thank God for employee discounts, because Jared’s gifts get pretty elaborate —white chocolate mint, gingerbread cream, orange mocha.

Don't you worry 'bout what's on your mind, oh no. I'm in no hurry, I can take my time, oh no.

“So,” the guy calls out a couple weeks later. “Jared, huh?”

Jared turns, walks backwards. The guy salutes him with the cup. Jared blushes, realizing Katie must’ve written his name on it. He’ll kill her later.

“Yeah,” he blurts. He can’t believe they’re actually talking. At last. He’s still walking away but with the tiniest of steps. “And you?”

“Jensen. Jensen Ackles. At your service.”

“So that’s where that comes from?” Jared gestures toward the guitar case emblazoned with big silver letters: Acksidental Songs.

“Yeah,” Jensen says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kinda dumb, huh? Busted dreams of a band.”

Jared’s heel catches uneven sidewalk, and he stumbles like a moron. “You’ll make it big, whatever you do,” he yells back. “You’re amazing!” Then he spins, jogging away. Damn class anyway.

But after that there are snippets of conversation. He discovers Jensen’s from Texas too. That he writes his own songs, but never plays them in public. Jared admits he mostly listens to Top 40, and Jensen throws his head back laughing.

Jared brings him hazelnut. Because that’s Jensen’s favorite.

Jensen sings him another classic rock song.

~~~~~

One night, Jared’s walking home with Genevieve tucked up under his arm against the brisk autumn wind. They’d agreed when they started in the department that they’d never go a whole week eating dinner alone. Jared knows why he’s always dateless, but not why Gen doesn’t have a herd of guys chasing her. Nevertheless, the company’s nice.

Gen’s chatting about their dissertation committees, but Jared tunes her out as they approach Jensen’s corner. It’s way too cold and late to make busking productive, but there he is, leaning against the wall, softly strumming.

“We could order out, sweetie, or you could cook,” Gen is saying. “You know I’m helpless in the kitchen. Do we need to stop at the store?”

Jared glances down. “Whatever you’d like.” He hasn’t told any of his friends about Jensen, except Katie, and only because she was suspicious over all the coffees. Gen would like him. Jared’s gonna introduce her.

But when he looks up, the corner ahead of them is silent. Jensen has disappeared.

~~~~~

Jensen’s not in his regular spot the next day. Or the next.

After a week, Jared stops bringing coffee.

After a month, he stops hoping.

~~~~~

It’s December. The temp unexpectedly dropped twenty degrees since morning, down below freezing. With the sleet pellets whipping out of the darkness it feels like Siberia. Jared’s heading home, bobbing from foot to foot, waiting for the light to change, when something in the shadowed entrance of the vacant building across the way catches his eye, a figure huddled in long coat and stocking cap. It’s not uncommon to see a homeless person taking shelter, but propped beside is a guitar case, what looks like “Acksidental Songs” glinting at Jared in the watery streetlight.

Jared breaks into a run, heedless of any cars.

He rolls up calling, “Jensen? Jensen?” But really, the guitar could be stolen, misplaced, Jared could be hallucinating.

It is Jensen, though. He looks like crap, like he’s been out in the weather too long, white-faced and shivering.

“What are you doing here, man?” Jared asks, as if they were buddies. As if Jensen hadn’t taken off without a word.

“Hey, J—Jared.” Jensen stutters through chattering teeth.

“Hey.” Jared sits on the cement stoop next to him. It feels like an iceberg, the cold biting through his jeans. He waits.

“Had some bad l—luck since I saw you last. Not a lot of cash coming in. Got tossed from my apartment.” He shrugs. “Probably have to hitch my way south, back home. G—give up on music.”

“Where are you staying?” Jared asks.

Jensen shrugs again, and the cold isn’t as painful as the lurch that twists Jared’s stomach. This is all wrong. He rummages around for enough courage, then offers, “You should come back to my place. At least for tonight.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

Jared thinks he’s misheard, the wail of wind and traffic in his ears, but then remembers the last time he saw Jensen. He leans in. “I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he says distinctly. “And I haven’t had a boyfriend in years.” He holds Jensen’s gaze, then offers his hand.

It takes a couple of tries for Jensen to get to his feet, even with Jared’s help.

Jared grabs the guitar and they shuffle down the street.

~~~~~

Jensen’s still shivering the flesh off his bones as Jared bundles him inside his tiny studio apartment. Jensen watches Jared toe off his shoes, but when he reaches down himself, he almost tips over.

Jared steadies him. “Whoa.”

“S-sorry,” Jensen grits out.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Jared crouches down to get the boots off, laces stiff and rimed with salt.

Even through his sock, Jensen’s foot feels like a block of ice. His jeans are damp and sloughing off gobs of sleet, too. And when Jared looks up into Jensen’s face, those lips Jared’s dreamed so much about are blue-tinged.

Fuck it, Jared prods himself. He stands, tugs Jensen’s hand. “C’mon. You need to get warmed up.”

Jared’s sleeping area is a few steps away, separated by a screen. Next to that’s the bathroom door. Jared leads Jensen inside, flipping the light switch and reaching to crank the shower full blast.

Jensen just stands there, swaying, as the steam billows out of the little square stall.

“Why don’t you—“ Jared gestures vaguely at Jensen’s clothes. “And I’ll grab you something dry to put on.” He feels his face flush and turns toward the shower to hide, fiddling with the faucet, bringing the water down from scalding to lukewarm. Then he scuttles out.

Beyond the door, Jared grips the edge of the dresser with both hands, listening to the curtain rings jingle. Jensen Ackles is naked in his apartment. This cannot be happening.

He grabs a random pair of sweats and a long-sleeved tee, and ventures back into the bathroom, balancing the clothes on the edge of the sink.

“Do you need a—“ but before Jared finishes, Jensen throws the shower curtain back. “—towel?” He can’t help himself, looks Jensen’s body up and down, biting his lip at the sight of Jensen’s cock curved against his thigh.

Jensen raises his eyebrows, then fists the front of Jared’s t-shirt, yanking him into the stall, right under the water.

He kisses Jared, sweet and careful, but Jared can’t be, has waited too long. He bites and licks eagerly, gracelessly at Jensen’s mouth as water streams over them, Jensen’s tongue flicking out as if to tease him for his rush. One of Jensen’s hands twines in his hair, while Jared’s roam over now-warm, sleek skin, down the long muscles of Jensen’s back, daring to cup the perfect curve of his ass.

Jensen’s fingers slip under Jared’s soaked tee, skim the fly of his jeans, tugging lightly. “Can I? This?” Jensen breathes, sipping water from Jared’s lips.

“Oh god, please,” Jared moans, arching back to let his shoulders hit the wall.

Jensen unzips him and shoves the jeans down to his thighs. Jared’s aching hard and the feel of Jensen’s hand, the spray of water flowing over his cock, down his balls, Jensen’s mouth on his neck; he’s dizzy with it, desperate. Jared hears himself making little needy noises that echo off the tile, Jensen’s whispers of encouragement a harmony underneath as he lines both their cocks up, jacking them together, swift and sure, soap for slick. Jared’s hips press urgently forward, into Jensen’s sweet grip, tighter against Jensen’s hot skin.

He flips sodden strands of hair from his eyes to look down into Jensen face, at water-spiked eyelashes, lips plush and ruby-red from kissing.

“Let me see you,” Jensen whispers.

Jared curls into him and comes, pearly spunk striping Jensen’s abs. Jensen’s cock jolts, too, and the pungent smell of them mixes in the thick, wet air.

For a moment, they breathe into each other’s shoulders, Jared still shuddering with pleasure. Then Jensen eases back, turns off the water, tries to help Jared out of his drenched clothes. But they cling like a second skin, and there’s not enough room with both of them crowded in for Jared to worm free.

Jensen steps back, out of the stall. Jared finally sheds himself of jeans and tee, but when he emerges into the bathroom, it’s empty.

He finds Jensen hovering in the middle of the main room, his wet clothes bundled in his hands. He glances at Jared, towel around his waist, and then toward the door.

“I should—maybe I should go?”

There’s a furrow between Jensen’s brows. He doesn’t look like a man who wants to leave, but one who thinks he has to.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jared replies softly, sitting down on the bed, patting the space beside him.

Jensen lets everything drop to the floor and comes to sit down. Jared, his head still reeling, risks putting an arm around Jensen and squeezes.

Jensen sighs. “I’m sorry you have to—that I’m—.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t know what to do right now.”

Jared can’t come up with a classic song, but his mind serves up something off the radio that will have to do. He leans close.

Stay with me, Jared murmurs, grasping for the tune. ‘Cause you’re all I need. He’s already begun when he realizes the lyrics need changing. This could be love, it seems to me. Oh god. Did he really just say that? He sings the rest with his face buried in Jensen’s shoulder. So darlin’, stay with me.

There’s a moment’s silence, and Jared can’t help it. He peeks. The look on Jensen’s face is like daybreak after the longest night.

Reaching out, Jensen cups a hand around Jared’s face, one calloused thumb tracing over Jared’s cheekbone. “Wow.” Jensen grins. “Your singing is truly awful.”

The butterflies that had sprung up in Jared’s stomach swirl up and out and away, and he flops back onto a pillow, laughing. “It really is, isn’t it?”

Then his arms come up to wrap around Jensen when he splays on top of Jared, pinning him to the mattress. “I’ll make a deal with you,” Jensen says, kissing Jared on the nose and brow and chin. “I’ll sing, you make coffee for us in the morning.”

And as Jensen’s lips meet his, Jared laughs again. “That sounds perfect to me.”